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This was supposed to be a post about fitness. Instead, it’s a post about Tina Fey, fitness, irresponsibility and crotch biscuits.

Let’s start with irresponsibility.

On Friday night, the boy and I went out with friends and, after a few drinks, decided to taxi home — an act which was very, very responsible. I didn’t sleep well that night because I was panicked about sleeping in and getting a parking ticket. Sure, I could’ve set an alarm but I didn’t want to on principle, it being Saturday morning. That was irresponsible. Instead, I tossed and turned until the early morning when it was time to get the car.

Which brings me to my next points: Tina Fey and fitness.

My exhaustion killed my big plans for skiing on Saturday. As punishment, I decided I would do a long bike ride at the gym. That necessitated the purchase of pick-me-up reading-while-biking material in the form of Vogue and Tina Fey’s Bossypants.

Ninety minutes and 140 pages later, I’d forgotten how terrible I felt that morning and how boring it is to ride a stationary bike for ninety minutes.

Which brings me to crotch biscuits, the point you’ve all been waiting for and which I’d never heard of until I read Bossypants. By the time I finished biking, I’d put some good work into preventing what Fey calls “crotch biscuits” — the wobbly triangles on one’s inner thighs, a phrase I find fall-off-the-stationary-bike hilarious.